To a Lady Singing. 
By Waller, Edmund. 


Chloris, yourself you so excel,
When you vouchsafe to breathe my thought,
That, like a spirit, with this spell
Of my own teaching I am caught.

That eagle's fate and mine is one,
Which on the shaft that made him die
Espied a feather of his own,
Wherewith he wont to soar so high.

Had Echo with so sweet a grace
Narcissus' loud complaints returned,
Not for reflection of his face,
But of his voice, the boy had mourned.